


Beast

by Spun_The_Stars



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Beauty and the Beast Elements, Blood and Gore, I'm Bad At Tagging, I’ll add more tags as they apply, M/M, Vampire Gerard Way, Wolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-04-30 22:24:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14506773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spun_The_Stars/pseuds/Spun_The_Stars
Summary: Gerard Way is a ruthless King, unable to show sympathy or love. He is cursed for his malicious behavior and bloodthirsty nature.The only way to break the curse?Fall in love.The King withdraws himself from mankind, choosing instead to live a solitary life in his abandoned palace."For who could ever learn to love a Beast?"





	1. •Prologue•

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the plot or characters of Beauty & The Beast. I also don't own Gerard or Frank, anything they may do is completely fictional.

The sky began to darken, the opaque clouds danced as if they were prima ballerinas chasséing across the atmosphere, unintentionally blocking the sun from view. Deep rumbling was heard, though not even a flinch was extracted from the Royal Army. The soldiers had countless years of training and experience, they wouldn’t dare refuse any demands from their noble King or Constable, who was incredibly proficient in the use of weaponry.

“My good King,” Sir Geoffrey the Valiant piped up from the seat of his horse. “Surly you wouldn’t want to get caught in a storm of this nature; perhaps we should set up camp for the night and continue the journey at dawn.”

King Gerard Arthur Way, aged 26, pinned his steely gaze to the Constable. “Sir Geoffrey,” he began, venom leaking into every word in order to draw fear from the man. “Surly you wouldn’t be attempting to undermine my authority?”

Sir Geoffrey broke out in a quick sweat, drops of moisture ran down the sides of his candescent neck, soaking the tips of his golden-blond hair. “Your noble Majesty,” Sir Geoffrey choked out, “I would never dream of overpowering you, it was merely a stupid suggestion.”

King Gerard let out a hum from deep in his chest.

“Let the Army move into a trot, I wish to arrive before nightfall, Sir Geoffrey.”

The clinking of armor grew steadily louder as the soldiers began to march, King Gerard squeezed the barrel of his horse and clicked his tongue. The warmblood began to canter in an organized fashion, throwing his nose upward in silent rebellion.

The King and his Army traveled for several hours, only interrupting the advance when they were outside the palace.

Maps were pinned to thick trees, burly soldiers sharpened their Royal Knight Swords, and the King and Sir Geoffrey discussed battle tactics with their most accomplished warriors. The plan was to send the majority of their men into the village, then take control of the palace. The King would dispatch the Royal Family and finally lay claim to the land.

King Gerard watched with slight interest as Sir Geoffrey explained the strategy with his men, eventually sending them on their way.

Mounting his horse, King Gerard began the ride into the village at a speedy gallop. The screaming of the people around him only forced the King to push faster, he couldn’t wait to see the look on King Charles face when he would storm into his throne room with the intent to _kill._

By the time the King had circled the village twice, his guards alerted him to the successful seizure of the castle.

Leaving his warmblood tied to an outstretched branch, King Gerard sauntered through the open gates, up the stairs, and into the throne room.

“Look what we have here,” King Gerard snarled lowly, pacing around the Royal Family as if he were a wild cat stalking his prey.

“Leave, _please_ ,” King Charles begged, looking into Gerard’s eyes with despair.

Quick as the lightning from the raging storm outside, Gerard struck at the man, yanking his graying hair back and plunging his dagger into the King’s jugular vein. Kicking the King back without any sympathy, Gerard turned his attention to the deceased man’s daughter next.

“Please, show mercy!” The Queen’s voice rang out in the silence, “She’s just a girl, take me instead! _Please!_ ”

Gerard gazed into the girl’s innocent blue eyes, glazed over in terror. He gently cradled her soft, trembling jaw and leaned in close to press a feather light kiss to her temple, “Your perfume is sweet as honey, so gentle and tenderhearted.” He whispered into her ear, “But Gerard Arthur Way isn’t merciful, little White Carnation.”

Slitting the girl’s throat in one fast movement, King Gerard watched as she crumpled into a bloody heap on the marble floors.

“ _NO!_ ” A crestfallen shriek made its way into the thick air. Slowly turning, Gerard fixed his dark gaze on the distraught Queen.

She slowly rose to her feet and faced Gerard, “ You, _you._ ” She hissed, “You did this to my daughter, you murdered her, _Beast!_ ”

“I am _no_ beast! I am a noble _king!_ ” Gerard growled in indignation, gripping his blood-stained dagger tightly.

“You will be a monster, a horrific, bloodthirsty _beast!_ ” The Queen howled, she began to chant ominous words and her pale blue eyes morphed into a vivid violet.

A stabbing pang stretched across Gerard’s lower abdomen, he doubled over in pain and clutched his stomach. “What have you done!?” Gerard croaked, his eyesight blurring.

“Learn to love, Beast.” The Queen murmured, sweeping out of the room and down the stairs to safety.

“Kill her, Geoffrey!” King Gerard choked out, falling onto his knees.

Sir Geoffrey smirked and ambled over to King Gerard, “Do you really think I’d take commands from a feeble, spineless, weakling like _you?_ My men and I have been planning your demise for countless moons, though it seems the Queen made the job impeccably easy.”

Tugging Gerard back onto his knees, Geoffrey kicked the King’s gut with the precision and strength only an expert would possess.

King Gerard let out a groan and began to heave, ruby red blood splattered the marble flooring. Stepping back, Geoffrey punched the King’s temple and squeezed his eyes shut in disgust at the sight before him. The King lay on his side, convulsing and coughing up copious amounts of blood that began to spread across the floor, soaking into the velvet cloak draped over his spasming body.

When the sickly body lay still, bloodshot eyes unfocused, red trickling from swollen lips, Geoffrey came to his senses.

The Constable sneered in repulsion at his late King’s dead body and escaped from the once magnificent throne room that now harbored an unpleasant appearance.

When the King roused many hours later, he felt rather peculiar. It was as if his senses had become..heightened; blue veins were starkly visible against deathly pale skin, blood pounding in his head, the searing heat in his throat, as if his body were begging and pleading for a cool glass of water. Stumbling to his feet, Gerard inhaled heavily, desperate for air, desperate for water, desperate for _blood._

Scrambling towards the body of the princess, Gerard brushed aside her matted, copper-stained hair and pressed his nose to the skin behind her ear. Dragging his tongue down her neck, Gerard felt his gums burn uncontrollably when he pressed his lips against her jugular vein. Finally aware that two long fangs protruded where his canines had formerly stood, the King was unable to hold himself back. Gerard bit into the girl’s flesh, swallowing every mouthful of blood that made acquaintance with his tongue.

Moaning in relief, Gerard felt the cool blood make itself present in his veins.

A faint whisper dragged the King’s attention away from his meal. Gerard slowly lifted his head—strands of greasy black hair fell over his face in response to the motion—to stare at the formerly empty throne that now held a glowing rose.

Inching forward, the closer Gerard crawled to the rose, the louder the whispering. When he was barely an inch away from the illuminated flower, the voices were nearly distinguishable. Gerard felt an internal force tugging at his chest, he had to touch the rose. It was calling out to him, it was calling out to his to his _soul._

Carefully reaching out, Gerard snatched the rose. The voice was in his head, yelling, screaming at him.

_Beast.Beast.Beast._

Gerard dropped the rose, clawing violently at his ears.

_Learn to love._

***


	2. •One•

The crunching of gravel broke through the silence of the early morning, warm rays of incandescence sunshine shone down on the waking town. A handsome dark-haired man, adorned with sharp hazel eyes inhaled deeply. With his book tucked safely in his arms, he gazed at the tall, white church that peaked above the village rooftops.

"Wait for it," the man murmured, staring up at the clock that stood proudly above the church doors. "Three, two, one."

A blaring ring traveled across the town, alerting the townsfolk of the time. As if on cue, a housewife swung open the windows to her small cottage, nodding towards a woman shaking out a fraying rug nearby. A butcher unlocked his shop and waved to a cobbler moving past with their cart.

As the man continued his journey, he was noticed by an elderly vagrant who smiled at him as two gendarmes tossed him into an elevated cage on wheels. The man frowned, then began to weave between the villagers in an attempt to make himself invisible to the surrounding crowd .

He passed by a harried baker and stopped to purchase a warm, buttery croissant. When he took a bite of the exquisite pastry, the crispy, golden flakes practically melted on his tongue like snowflakes.

The man promptly ran into Jean, the town potter, tending to his mule.

"Good morning, Frank." Jean grunted, scratching his balding head and searching his cart as if he had forgotten something.

"Good morning, Monsieur Jean." Frank chirped. "Have you lost something again?"

"I believe I have. I’m certain it’s not important, perhaps it will come to me later."

Frank hummed lightly and pursed his lips, many of Monsieur Jean’s ‘lost’ belongings had caused tragedy to the town. Frank decided to leave the poor man be and began to leave.

"Where are you headed to?" Monsieur Jean inquired, forcing Frank to stay with the intrusive man.

"To return this book to Father Stump, it's a tale of two lovers in fair Verona."

"Sounds drab."

Frank shook his head and scoffed, it felt like all the townspeople despised literature.

When he ventured beside the schoolhouse, he could hear the crude whispers emanate from the children. “There he goes again, dazed and distracted, his head stuck in the clouds.”

Frank sniffed and turned away, “Uncultured swine,” he muttered, menace coating his voice in a feeble attempt to distract from the feeling of exclusion.

He finally escaped into the peaceful serenity of the country church. Stained glass looked down upon Frank and Father Stump, a pale man with golden-blond hair and blue-green eyes.

“Back so soon?” Father Stump asked, amusement lacing his voice.

Frank only sighed and handed Father Stump his leather-bound copy of _Romeo And Juliet_ , “Do you have anything new?” He asked hopefully, smiling at the small library that contained a dozen books at most.

Father Stump sighed and shook his head in resignation, “I’m afraid not, surely you could re-read another story?”

“Of course, Father.” Frank affirmed, grabbing a worn, purple book off the dusty shelf.  
————————————  
When Frank entered the town square he noticed a tall, dashingly handsome man with dark brown hair, amber eyes, adorned in a shiny gold breastplate staring at him from the roof of the town tavern. The man was Brendon Urie, admired war hero. Unfortunately, the only thing bigger than his ego was his gigantic forehead. Standing beside him was his lanky partner, Ryan Ross, who was a genuinely pleasant companion to be in the company of.

When the two began to leap off the roof and saunter towards him, Frank rolled his eyes and bit his tongue to prevent any brash statements from escaping his lips.

“Gaze upon him, Ryan. My future husband, lover, the most beautiful boy in the village.” Brendon drawled in a dreamy sort of tone.

Ryan scrutinized the man with a childish pout, speaking in a trivial manner. “Though Frank is so well-read, and you’re more..athletically inclined.”

“I’m well aware, Frank can be as argumentative as he is alluring.”

“Precisely! Why need _him_ when you have me?” Ryan hinted, gawking at Brendon with passion-filled eyes.

“Ryan,” Brendon lectured, “ever since the death of the war I’ve felt empty, as if I were missing something. Frank’s the only man who’s given me that sense of..”

“Sécurité? L'amour d'un milliard de coeurs? La façon dont tu me fais me sentir quand je me noie dans le voile de ton regard délicat?” Ryan suggested, studying the ground in fake fascination. **(Yo, so I used Google translate for this so idk if this is right, but it's supposed to say "Security? The love of a billion hearts? The way you make me feel when I'm drowning in the veil of your delicate look?")**

“I don’t know what that means,” Brendon complained, ignoring Ryan when the couple began to draw near Frank.

Brendon handed a swooning blonde maiden two gold coins in payment for the bouquet of vibrant flowers. Then he began his pursuit of Frank once more with the ever loyal Ryan beside him.

Slightly out of breath, Brendon caught up to Frank at last. “Good morning, Frank! Wonderful book you have there.”

“You’ve read it?” Frank asked, staring at the book, then Brendon, in disbelief.

“Well,” Brendon admitted. “Not _that_ particular one, but you know, books.”

Ryan looked around awkwardly before fixing Frank with an envious glare when Brendon handed him the colorful, sweet-smelling bouquet.

“For your dinner table,” he confirmed. “Shall I join you this evening?”

“Sorry, not tonight.” Frank blushed, desperate to disappear into his comfortable cottage.

“Busy?”

“No,” Frank answered slowly, a mortified smile attached to his face. He quickly ducked out of that situation and abandoned Brendon and Ryan.

“You’re certainly going to move on now, the boy has denied you countless times.” Ryan stammered in false hope that Brendon would drop everything for him.

“Ryan!” Brendon whined, “It’s always those who play hard to get that are the sweetest prey. That’s what makes Frank so irresistible, he hasn’t made a fool of himself just to gain my undying love and affection. Now what would you call that?”

“Dignity.” Ryan deadpanned.

“It’s unbelievably enticing, isn’t it?”  
           ————————————  
When Frank arrived back to his cottage, the gentle melody from his father’s music box rang out into the silent, still air of the early morning. He promptly snatched a clear, glass vase from the cabinets and plopped the bouquet inside, then he filled the half the container with water from the ancient, stone well that resided near the town lake. After tucking his book into one of the wooden shelves in his room and placing the vase in the center of his dinner table, Frank moseyed down to his father’s workshop.

“Father?” Frank called out against the blaring music box, brushing his dark hair behind his ear and searching the dimly-lit room.

A thump and a muffled curse broke through the loud music. “Frank?” His father asked, popping his head out of the music box. The man was known for his eccentric ideas and wacky inventions, while quite a few townspeople claimed he was insane, Frank loved his father with all of his heart.

“Oh, good, you’re back!” Frank Iero Sr. stated, pushing himself away from the music box and snatching a scrunched, gray rag to wipe away the grease on his weathered hands.

“Can you hand me th—”

Frank passed a rusty screwdriver into his father’s palm before he could even finish his sentence. As he got back to tinkering with his music box, Frank examined his father’s other creations he planned to take with him to the market. One had a red button, when Frank held it down, iridescent bubbles zoomed out of the small opening at the top, while another object made strange clicking sounds. Frank shook his head in amusement and perched on the edge of the wooden desk.

“Father, do you think I’m odd?” Frank wondered aloud, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at his lap.

“My son? _Odd_?” Frank Sr. scoffed, “Where did you hear such a ridiculous idea?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes I hear people talk.” Frank spoke carefully, tracing the veins on his wrist and leaning back to rest his head on the wall.

“ _People_.” Frank Sr. lectured, “This town may be small, small-minded even, but small also means safe.”

That was certainly not the answer Frank was hoping for, he closed his eyes and let out a sigh. He hopped of the desk and walked out the basement, pausing at the door and staring into his father’s clueless hazel eyes.

“Sure, Father.”

              ————————————  
Frank huffed when he finally finished placing the tack on the family horse, a dappled gray Hanoverian named Philippe. Frank Sr. gently placed his peculiar inventions into a velvet sack that attached to Philippe’s saddle.

“What do you desire from the market?” Frank’s father inquired, hoisting himself onto the leather seat and grabbing the reins.

“A rose like the one in the painting.”

Before Frank’s mother had fallen ill and died, her true love had always been art. She had gifted him one of her favorite creations, a painting of a beautiful, red rose.

“You ask for that every year,” Frank Sr. commented, smiling down at his son.

“And every year, you bring it.” Frank fired back, caressing Philippe’s crest and running his fingers through the horse’s smooth mane.

“Then I shall bring you another, you have my word.” Frank Sr. promised, clicking his tongue and urging Philippe to move forward.

Frank watched with innocent eyes as his father and horse began to trot up the dusty, dirt road toward town. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” He called, waving excitedly.

Frank’s bubbling warmth soon turned to a cold concern, “Stay safe.” Frank whispered to himself, turning back to the cottage with one last glance at his vanishing father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, Frens! I sure hope you enjoyed this chapter, I have no idea what I’m doing, this is literally my second attempt at writing fanfic sooo. Yeah.
> 
> Yours truly,  
> The incredibly awkward Spun_The_Stars  
> :D


	3. •Chapter Two•

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, so I just want to say sorry for procrastinating. I meant to get this chapter up three months ago but then I started doing other stuff like reading fanfic instead of writing it. I hope you enjoy the new chapter and if you don’t..sorry, I’ll try better next time. :)

The last streaks of light began to fade, giving way to the silver moon hanging above the forest. Leaves of red and gold were lifted into the swirling wind, they flew past the looming trees, picking up speed as the clouds began to darken.

 

“The woods are lovely, aren’t they Philippe?” Frank Sr. began, voice shaking, he urged his horse to move into a hurried trot. “I only wish I could recognize them. Do you know where we are Philippe? Because I certainly don’t.”

 

As the remaining light from the twinkling moon vanished, the breeze became almost violent. A withered tree branch, twisted into the shape of an elder’s cane was suddenly struck by a powerful, bright light.

 

“Whoa!” Frank Sr. yelped when Philippe leaped sideways in fright, landing in a pile of colorful leaves.

 

The charred tree split in half with a loud crack, a small branch landing in the dirt road revealing a hidden path. Philippe let out a nervous whinny, pawing at the ground.

 

“Hmm,” Frank Sr. mused, tugging on Philippe’s leather reins, “We can go this way. When one path closes, another one opens. Walk on!”

 

Frank Sr. and Philippe started to veer towards the open pathway. As they trotted further into the cold, dark forest, Philippe let out a snort of disbelief at the endless white, backing up towards the split tree.

 

“It’s alright, Philippe.” Frank Sr. reassured the dappled horse, forcing him to continue on the unusual road. “It’s just a bit of snow...in June.”

 

As they made their way farther into the enchanted forest, the steady clopping of Philippe’s hooves faded into silence. 

 

“What…?” Frank Sr. uttered in confusion. Hesitantly, they slowly inched forward when a deep growl was heard from the icy bushes beside them.

 

“Go, Philippe! Hurry!” Frank Sr. yelled in terror. The horse bounded into the snow, running for safety when an enormous white wolf leaped after them, a deadly snarl escaping its throat.

 

Frank Sr. let out a screech when he was flung off of Philippe and directly into the path of another wolf, it seemed as if the rest of the pack had made themselves present as well. He stumbled away from the scarred Alpha and slid down a snow-covered slope where three other wolves were waiting. Suddenly, Philippe appeared beneath him. Frank Sr. held onto the horse’s gray mane for dear life as yellow eyes mad with hunger, slavering jaws, and the gleam of white, pointed teeth chased after them.

 

Frank Sr. rushed Philippe towards the once beautiful castle looming behind the icey, stone gates. Philippe leaped over the threatening fence in one bound, slowing to a trot while Frank Sr. glanced back to see the wolves skid to a stop and turn back with fearful yelps.

 

Turning his attention back to the palace, Frank Sr. stared in awe at the silver edifice protruding from a large slab of stone and seemingly traveling to the troubled skies. When they drew closer, he noticed the stable door swaying in the wind, a lit lamp hanging from a nail beside the entrance as if it were inviting a tired traveler to find refuge.

 

Sliding off Philippe’s back, Frank Sr. lead the horse into one of the many stalls lining the sides of the barn. He quickly removed Philippe’s saddle and bridle, placing them on the iron rail nailed to the sliding door.

 

“There’s water, fresh hay. It’s seems like you’re set, old friend. Rest here,” Frank Sr. started, warily peering at the intimidating castle. “While I pay my respects to our unwitting host...whoever that may be..”

 

Frank Sr. cautiously approached a large, wooden door, dusty vines of iron curled around the dark frame. He cautiously opened the door with a loud creek, slipping inside the once-magnificent palace.

 

“Hello?” He called out into the empty hall, creeping forward in the darkness. Moonlight filtered through the windows, illuminating the once elegant hall that had fallen into a state of ruin. 

 

“Forgive me for intruding, I’m in need of shelter from the storm.” Frank Sr. explained, shrugging out of his coat and draping it over the coat rack beside the door. Turning to gaze at the room, the coat rack shook the snow from his belongings.

 

“He must have lost his way in the woods,” a quiet voice whispered. 

 

“ _ Shut up, you idiot _ ,” another voice whispered back.

 

Frank Sr. quickly spun towards the direction of the noise to see an ordinary candelabra and clock perched on a wooden desk. Curiously, he approached the clock, leaning down to get a good look.

 

“Hmm,” he hummed. “How extraordinary.”

 

Picking up the golden candelabra, Frank Sr. inspected the strange carvings.

 

“This is beautiful..”

 

An eerie tune snatched Frank Sr.’s attention away from the candlestick, he followed the melody into a grand ballroom. 

 

“A man of great taste,” the candelabra noted.

 

“He was talking about  _ me _ .” 

 

The music abruptly stopped when Frank Sr. entered the desolate ballroom; uneasy, he stepped back out into the main hall and settled beside a crackling fire.

 

“Wherever you are..I’m just going to warm myself by the fire.” Frank Sr. announced to his mysterious host and began rubbing his hands together in order to spread the heat. 

 

“That’s better. Oh, much better..”

 

As Frank Sr. turned to warm his backside, the clinking of silverware caught his attention. He entered the dusty dining hall and noticed a meal had been set out on a long banquet table. 

 

“Thank you!” Frank Sr. gasped, plopping down into the plush chair and tearing apart a biscuit that he ravenously devoured in seconds.

 

Glancing around for a drink to wash down the food, a cup of tea slowly slid into his hand. Frank Sr. blinked twice at the mug.

 

“Mom said I wasn’t supposed to move because it might be scary. Sorry.” The teacup mumbled.

 

Chewing the rest of the loaf thoughtfully, Frank Sr. smiled awkwardly.

 

“It’s quite alright,” he reassured the teacup, scrambling away from the table and bolting towards the castle doors.

 

Yanking the doors open, Frank Sr. bowed and called out into the shadows.

 

“Thank you. Really, I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality—”

 

Frank Sr. pulled on his coat and hat.

 

“..And kindness.”

 

A flash of lightning escaped through the opened doors and illuminated a beastly shape staring at Frank Sr. with dark eyes ringed in a bloody red, skin so pale it almost resembled snow, and long pointed fangs that were visible in the monster’s horrendous smile. At the next flash, the monster was gone.

 

Frank Sr. stumbled out of the palace and raced to the barn. He swiftly tacked Philippe and pulled himself onto the stallion’s saddle, with a click of his tongue and a gentle kick they were racing away from the castle.

 

Frank Sr. forced Philippe pe to stop when he noticed white roses growing around the colonnade.

 

“Roses, perfect!”

 

Frank Sr. checked his surroundings but it looked like no one had followed him from the palace. He dismounted and walked around the bushes, looking out for a rose nice enough to give to his son.

 

“ I can’t go home empty handed..I promised Frank a rose and I will bring him one.” 

 

Frank Sr. looked around the area warily, “I think it’s safe..”

 

He cautiously reached for a perfect white rose, pricking his finger on a thorn, he yanked his hand back with a yelp.

 

“Ow!”

 

Frank Sr. wiped his finger on his cloak, smearing a bit of blood on the fabric before trying again and successfully picking the rose. Falling backwards into the snow, Frank Sr. let out a silent scream of terror as a monstrous beast towered over him.

 

Philippe let out a whinny of fear, breaking his harness in a desperate attempt to escape. The horse raced across the castle grounds and out the icey gates.

 

————————————

The sun slowly rose above the horizon, Frank was curled up on his porch taking slow sips of his coffee while watching watching the town begin to rouse. A quiet rumble caught his attention, glancing over his shoulder Frank gasped in shock when his eyes met a thirsty and exhausted Philippe. He lead the horse to a water trough and stroked the horse’s mane in order to calm him down.

 

“What happened? Where is Father?!” Frank sobbed, gently pulling off the torn bridle and reaching for another Frank Sr. had bought in the event of an emergency. He placed the bit in Philippe's mouth and pulled the headpiece over his ears, Frank hopped onto the saddle and urged the horse back into the forest.

 

Sunlight shone through the gaps in the branches as Philippe galloped through the woods, passed the fallen tree, and into the enchanted forest. When they came upon the castle, Frank slowed Philippe to a stop and dismounted. He searched the snowy grounds and found a long, jagged stick that he wielded like a club and began to walk up the stairs to the castle. 

 

When Frank reached the door, he propped the club up in order to defend himself and pushed the door open, peeking his head inside for a look around. He cautiously stepped inside and shuddered at the creepy statues that seemed to watch his every move. 

 

“Look, Cogsworth. A beautiful boy.”

 

“I can see it’s a  _ boy _ , I lost my hands, not my eyes.”

 

“But what if he is the one? The one that will break the spell?”

 

Frank whipped his head around, searching for the voices he could hear echo in the darkness.

 

“Who said that?” He called, pacing the hall before stumbling towards a small wooden table holding a clock and candelabra. At the sound of a cough, Frank snatched the candelabra and headed up the stairs.

 

Frank wandered through the maze of stairs until he was finally met with a dark prison tower guarded by an old, rusty iron door. Frank Sr. was locked inside, curled up in a shivering ball, sick from the cold blowing through the open window.

 

“Papa? Is that you?” Frank asked, caution lacing his voice.

 

“Frank! How did you find me?”

 

Setting the candelabra by his feet, Frank grasped his father’s hands.

 

“Oh, your hands are cold as ice! We need to get you home.”

 

“Frank, you don’t understand!” Frank Sr. gasped out, pulling his hands from his son’s and gripping the metal bars of the iron gate. “This castle is  _ alive _ , you must go before  _ he _ finds you.”

 

“Who?” Frank demanded.

 

“The  _ Beast _ .”


	4. •Chapter Three•

Lurking in the shadows, Frank spotted two glaring red eyes looking straight(*scoffs* mOre like gAy) at him. Frank lifted his club to strike the strange figure but it disappeared in the blink(-182) of an eye.

 

“Who’s there?!” Frank called out, frantically looking around for the peculiar creature. “Who are you?”

 

“Who are  _ you?”  _

 

The figure’s velvety voice wrapped around Frank like a blanket of warmth, shielding him from the cool air and deadly frost escaping his pale lips.

 

Shaking himself back to reality, Frank frowned. “I’ve come for my father.”

 

“Your father is a  _ thief! _ ” 

 

“Liar! My father is an honest man, he would never steal one of your possessions!”

 

“He stole a rose.”

 

Frank felt a sliver of guilt erupt in his chest but quickly pushed it away, this monster didn’t deserve his sympathy.

 

“I asked for the rose. Punish me, not him!”

 

“Frank, no! He means  _ forever _ , apparently that’s the punishment for picking a flower.” Frank Sr. chimed in(WiTh A hAvEn’T yOu PeOpLe EvEr HeArD oF cLoSiNg tHe GoDdAmN dOoR).

 

“A life sentence for a rose?” Frank asked in disbelief.

 

“I received eternal damnation for one, and I’m merely locking him away. Now..would you still like to take your father’s place?”

 

“Show yourself,  _ Beast _ .” Frank spat at the monster.

 

The figure remained still.

 

Frank took the candelabra and thrust the candle forward, illuminating a hideous man with skin pale as ice, sunken cheeks, and violent blood-red eyes that flickered with sorrow.

 

“Choose.” The Beast snarled, his lip curling back to reveal a menacing set of elongated fangs.

 

“You  _ can’t _ ! Frank I’ve already lost your mother, i can’t lose you too!” Frank Sr fell into a coughing fit, choking out “Now  _ go _ !”

 

“Alright, Father, I will leave.” Frank sighed, turning back to the Beast. “I would like a minute alone with him.”

 

The Beast remained silent.

 

“Are you so malevolent that you won’t allow me to bid my father farewell?” Frank sneered, “Forever can wait a minute!”

 

The beast glided towards Frank, reaching out with his pale hand. Frank closed his eyes, bracing himself for the monster’s retaliation. Instead, he heard a loud clang and opened his eyes to see the Beast’s chest nearly pressed against his. The intoxicating scent of vanilla filled the room, clogging up all Frank’s senses. He discreetly shook his head, a nearly silent moan escaping his mouth.He quickly turned around, pink dusting his cheeks.

 

The gate was open.

 

“When this door closes, it will not open again.”

 

Frank dashed into the cell, embracing his trembling father.

 

“I should have been with you.” Frank cried, burying his face into Frank Sr.’s shoulder.

 

“Frank, listen to me.” Frank Sr. rasped, “You must forget me and live your life, it’ll be alright.”

 

“ _ Forget you _ ? Everything I am is  _ because of you _ !”

 

“I love you, Frank. Don’t be afraid.”

 

Frank tugged at his father’s coat, pulling him closer. “I love you too, Papa..” he whispered. “I’m not afraid. And I will escape, I promise.”

 

“What?!” 

 

Just as Frank Sr. began to pull back, Frank swung them around and shoved him out of the cell. The beast slammed the door shut with a loud thud. Turning to lock eyes, Frank felt a shiver run down his spine and dropped his gaze to the stone floor.

 

“You took his place.”

 

Frank lightly kicked at a small pebble resting by his dusty boots, “He is my father, I had to.”

 

“You are a  _ fool _ . And so is he.” The Beast snarled, dragging Frank Sr. out of the castle by the collar of his worn coat.

 

“Don’t hurt him!” Frank pleaded, watching as they disappeared down the corridor. Tears streamed down Frank’s cheeks, pink from the cold. He collapsed onto the grimy stone floor and wailed like the little crybaby he is. Get a grip Frank, geez.

 

Huddled into the corner of the cell, the iron door swung open. Frank’s head jerked up, he stared in disbelief at the talking candelabra.

 

“Forgive my intrusion, Monsieur, but I have been sent to escort you to your room.” 

 

Frank sniffed and stumbled to his feet. “My room?” Frank asked. “But I thought—”

 

“What? That once this door closes it will not open again, ROOOOOAAAAAARRRR! I know, he gets  _ so  _ dramatic _.” _

 

Frank blinks in confusion, “What  _ are _ you?”

 

The candelabra’s arms illuminated its charming smile, “I am Lumière!”

 

“And you can talk..”

 

A clock suddenly appears, gasping for breath.

 

“Of course he can talk, it’s all he ever  _ does _ ! Now Lumière, as the head of the household I demand that you lock him back in the cell immediately!” The clock snapped.

 

Frank knew the only appropriate moment to panic! was at the disco but he was most certain it was acceptable to freak out in his current situation.

 

“What do you want to be for the rest of your life, Cogsworth?” Lumière sassed. “A man, or a mantle clock?”

 

“Ready, sir?”

 

Frank cautiously followed the candelabra, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand.

 

“Trust me.” Lumière whispered to Cogsworth out of earshot of Frank.

 

“Okay..” the clock said, his voice wavering unsurely.

 

Lumière looked back at Frank as they walked down the candle-lit hallway. “Oh you must forgive first impressions, I hope you are not too startled.”

 

“Why would I be startled?” Frank replied, sarcasm lacing his voice. “I’m talking to a  _ candle _ .”

 

“Candelabra, please.” Lumière jested, “Enormous difference!”

 

“Consider me at your service! The castle is your home now so feel free to explore anywhere you’d like.”

 

“Except the west wing.” Cogsworth added glumly.

 

“Which we do not have.” Lumière stated.

 

Frank frowned. “Why? What’s in the west wing?”

 

“Oh, nothing.”

 

“Nothing at all!”

 

“Storage space.”

 

“Storage space.”

 

“That’s it.”

 

“Yep, nothing suspicious at all.”

 

“This way, please. To the east wing.” Cogsworth chirped, attempting to distract the boy.

 

Frank gazed over the castle balcony to the faded tower on the far side of the palace, with a small huff, he turned to follow Lumière and his clock companion.

  
There was something off about this place. Obviously. Objects that were usually inanimate were  _ alive _ , the Beast was a monster from the stories his father used to tell him; not to mention, it was snowing in the middle of  _ summer _ . Frank was going to get to the bottom of this, no matter what it cost. ____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to update Beast regularly instead of procrastinating and ignoring all my responsibilitiessss.


End file.
